


From zero to hero (just like that)

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Changing Tenses, Character Development, Families of Choice, First Meetings, Fjord Has Issues (Critical Role), Fjord's Backstory (Critical Role), Gen, Introspection, No Dialogue, Team as Family, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25062106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: Once, Fjord was an orphan at the Driftwood Asylum, filing down his tusks and trying not to be seen. A stone, tossed aside, unwantedNow, he is the Captain of a formidable vessel, a hero of both the Empire and the Dynasty and a member of the Mighty fucking Nein.
Relationships: Fjord & The Mighty Nein
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	From zero to hero (just like that)

**Author's Note:**

> You guys, this is such a bad fic so I don't expect you to like it, but I had this idea after episode 100 came out, and I had to write it or I would drive myself mad. So, here's this mess! I'm just... I'm so proud of Fjord, you guys. He's come so far.

Once, Fjord was an orphan, a nobody, one of the other hundreds of orphans that resided at the Driftwood Asylum, a broken place for castaways. Unwanted, unloved, unknown. Fjord spent his days dodging the other children, smaller than him in stature yet larger than him in ego. A half-orc in a field of normal folk as far as the eye could see, sticking out like a sore thumb in all the wrong ways, gradient green skin and sharp tusks compared to the normal people of the orphanage, elven and human and halfling. He wished that he could be like that. Normal, unwanted for unobvious reasons. 

Once, Fjord was a stone. Tossed aside, unwanted. There was nothing special about him. Fjord Stone. He hated it. It meant nothing to him. He was Fjord. Just Fjord. But how could he argue with the name when it was so fitting?

Once, Fjord stood in front of the cracked bathroom mirror with a tiny, rusty razor that was a little flimsy in the middle and could break beneath his fingers at any moment. He would look at himself in the mirror, late at night or so early in the morning that not even the adults who ran the place would be awake, and run his tongue over his tusks and pull at his lips and just observe how absurdly brutish he was. The kids had every right to tease him. He wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t normal. The feeling of the file against his tusks was unpleasant and unwelcome at first, but after a while, the repetitive motion of the grinding and the soft dusting of bone against his lip was familiar and comforting and he filed them down every night and every morning until they were gone, and he filed them down even after that.

Once, Fjord left the orphanage as soon as he could, even though he wasn’t old enough to get a job and too old to get pity and money from begging on the streets. He left the Driftwood Asylum with nothing but the clothes on his back, and he never looked behind.

Once, Fjord wandered through Port Damali, with nothing but a few copper pieces he had found on the road and his little tusk file burning a hole in his pocket when he stumbled across the docks, and all the commotion and the workers and people shouted orders, the scent of the sea, the ropes and barrels that lined the docks, the large ships that cast him in the shadow of their masts- it felt like home. He couldn’t explain it, but as the seaspray coasted across him, he knew that he was finally where he was supposed to be.

Once, Fjord met a man named Vandran, with an exotic yet alluring accent and kind eyes, a stern hand, and he took pity on this tiny homeless half-orc and offered him a lowly job on his ship. Fjord accepted that offer faster than he could blink, and when Vandran clapped him on the back, hard enough to rock him, he knew he made the right decision.

Then, Fjord spent his days on the sea, coasting from port to port, dock to dock, delivering goods and wares. He liked the crew, and he hoped the crew liked him. They hadn’t given him any reason to the contrary yet. It was certainly better than the orphanage.

Then, Fjord realized that Vandran had taken him under his wing and helped him learn his way around the Tide's Breath, helped him grow, learn, explore. Day by day, Fjord started to improve, and slowly, eventually, he began to feel at home on the wide, open waves.

Then, Fjord was happy to travel the ocean with a ship he called his home and people he treated him like a human being, and he wondered what god he had pleased in his past life to end up here.

Then, Fjord caught Sabian bellow decks one night, where he wasn’t supposed to be, setting something foreign and dangerous-looking to the hull of the boat, and when Fjord confronted him, Sabian escaped. He tried to warn the crew, to warn Vandran, but it was too late. The ship sank down beneath the waves in an explosion of heat and the scattering of the wood and debris as it found its final resting place on the seafloor of the aptly named Diver's Grave. Fjord was the only survivor.

Then, Fjord woke up on the shore, coughing up saltwater and wondering how the hell he was alive. He didn’t know what beach he was on, or what part of the continent, or even if he was in Wildemount at all. There was a sword beside his hand, close enough for him to reach out and grab, and once he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade, cool to the touch but almost moulded to fit his grasp, something shifted within him, something clicked into place, and it felt like he had finally found something he had been missing for so long. It felt almost as perfect as calling the Tide's Breath home.

Then, Fjord felt a ticking at the back of his neck, like somebody breathing against his skin, and words, encouragement formed at the back of his skull, like Vandran’s heavy hands on his shoulders, steering him in the right direction. He held out his hand and sickly green energy coalesced around his fingers, and when he thrust his hand forward, the energy shot out from his palm and made a fencepost explode. Though there was nobody there, he felt the presence retreat, satisfied, and Fjord was comforted by the experience.

Then, Fjord realized that if he spoke with Vandran’s accent, people listened to him, appreciated the words he was saying. He decided to stick with that. He had never liked his own accent anyway.

Then, as he made his way towards Nicodranas, he came across a blue-skinned tiefling with a bubbly personality and a beautiful smile who took a liking to Fjord right away and somehow, Fjord agreed to travel with her to the Soltryce Academy, and those first few weeks weren’t quite as lonely.

Then, as they made their way to Rexxentrum, Fjord and Jester stumbled upon a very angry woman with her hair cut short at the sides and her skin covered in cuts and bruises and welts. She wasn’t the nicest person Fjord had ever met, but she was good in a fight and a team-player, so he let her come with them. Not like he really had a choice. He knew that she would accompany them regardless.

Then, as they travelled through the Empire, they stopped off in Trostenwald, and in a bar, they met a very dirty looking homeless man and a sicky looking halfling and an abnormally clean cat. Names were exchanged, and before they could get very far, the doors were thrown open by an ostentatious, lavender-hued tiefling with pierced horns and a forked tongue, and a tall, muscular woman with a greatsword strapped to her back. There was a carnival in town, they said. The Fletching and Moondrop Travelling Carnival of Curiosities. Mollymauk- Molly to his friends, and they were friends now, weren’t they?- invited them to attend at his behest, and Fjord couldn’t refuse when Jester was so excited, so all five of them attended what they thought was going to be an easy night of entertainment. 

Then, Fjord woke up some time on the road choking on seawater and blinking at the light of a great yellowed eye.

Then, Fjord was holding a blade to Caleb’s neck in the home of the woman they were about to ruin when the whole world exploded, and the tower was falling.

Then, Fjord gazed at the yellow orb they had recovered from the marrows lair, and that familiar shifting seemed to call to him, and he shoved it into his chest with the vision of his mentor, and everything changed.

Then, Fjord was taken by slavers in the middle of the night, tied up and gagged and thrown into a cage in the back of a cart, and beside him sat Jester and Yasha, similarly bound, and though they were strong and they were mighty, he doubted that they would escape. They travelled for a long time before they came upon the sounds of fighting and of death, and then they continued moving as if nothing had happened. Lorenzo made quick work of them, and Fjord felt stronger knowing that his friends would be coming for Jester and that maybe they could find it in their hearts to help him out of his bindings as well. He didn’t expect him to be on their list and was infinitely grateful when freed him without a second thought. Maybe he was being foolish. But they had no reason to care for a half-orc with no tusks and no real skills. But they came for him, too, and that was all that mattered. 

Then, Molly was dead, and in his place was a tall pink firbolg with an easy smile and beetles on his amethyst-topped staff and pink lichen on his mint-green armour, and he made them breakfast and tea, and Fjord took a liking to him almost immediately, even if it did feel like they were replacing Molly a little bit. But Molly could never be replaced. 

Then, Fjord was suddenly the captain of a ship that they had accidentally stolen from the docks in Nicodranas, Captain Tusktooth, and he never handled this much responsibility before. But he had the most experience, and the Nein looked up to him, and he was going to make Vandran proud if it was the last thing he ever did.

Then, Fjord met Avantika, and she taught him everything he needed to know about his patron, about Uk'otoa. It was frightening yet awe-inspiring, and he knew he needed it more than anything.

Then, Fjord got Avantkia killed and he dragged his crew to the shipwrecked spot of the Tide’s Breath, and they assisted him in finding the final orb and placing the second key in the temple beneath the waves. Something unlocked inside of him. Something endless and powerful. It was everything he had ever wanted.

Then, Fjord disobeyed, and Uk’otoa took away the only thing that made him special. _Return_ , it said. But how could he return when he knew the dangers of releasing it? _Punishment_ , it warned, and punish it did. It made him useless, and worthless, and a liability. But it was only a warning, and when his powers returned, he was more afraid than before.

Then, Fjord realized that maybe Uk'otoa needed him more than Fjord needed Uk'otoa, and he threw his sword into the molten rock, and he felt… free.

Then, Fjord was being handed gifts and items by his family, even the Glove of Blasting from Caleb, which the wizard worried so much about, and soon enough, more gifts followed. A dagger, a shield, a magical whip. There was unbelievable power held in these items. For a moment, he found himself no longer feeling like a liability, but a real part of the team. And though Fjord has no weapon, no patron, no power, no skill, no magic, he entrapped the giant worm in his grasp and saved Beau from a grisly death of jaws and flame and grinding under the earth. He didn't need Uk'otoa for that. He did that all on his own. Maybe there was more to him than being a pawn for the gods, power or not.

Now, Fjord wakes up in a cocoon made of seaweed, caressed by the Wildmothers gentle hand, and he vows to serve goodness and life under Caduceus’s careful tutelage, and worship her over the sea-beast she freed him from.

Now, Fjord is bigger, taller, stronger, with a power running through his bones that has nothing to with the inky darkness of Uk'otoa and the sensation of drowning. No, it feels like soft grass underfoot, wind through the branches of trees, the chirping of tiny critters in the underbrush. The feeling of suffocation in the icy grip of the sea now felt like seaspray across his face, sand under his bare feet being dragged back from the shore, the sound of the cascading waves bowing to great him before caressing his toes. It feels like real magic.

Now, Fjord travels with Caduceus to save his family from their perpetual imprisonment and defeat a beast of metal. Though Fjord has never connected with the name Stone, given to him by the cruel headmistress who wanted him to know his place, he never let it be a part of him and Fjord was happy that there were positive connotations, and that it was in the Wildmother’s sacred name.

Now, Fjord is a hero of the Dynasty, and of the Empire, as he and the Nein oversee the peace talks. He is proud. The war is ending because of them. And they said it would never be done.

Now, Fjord is attacked in his bed, and Uk’otoa sends servants to kill him, and though Fjord fights back with all that he has, it isn’t enough, and he ends up lifeless on the deck of the Ball Eater. He’d surprised to wake up. There was no reason for the Wildmother to send him back. But then he wakes up to the Nein gathered around him, with Caduceus holding onto him tightly and looking angrier than Fjord had ever seen him, and he realizes that he never had anything to worry about. Caduceus removes the orb from his chest, something Fjord has assumed disappeared when he threw the sword into the lava, and Caleb locks it away, and they hope that nothing more will come of it. 

Now, Fjord feels the Wildmother’s influence from his tusks to his toes. It’s everywhere, making his stronger, braver, happier. No wonder Caduceus is so calm all the time. The Wildmother always comes when you call, even if it wasn’t in the ways you’d expect. She might not be the Traveller, but Fjord is happy with the kindness she shows him, the patience, the gentleness. It’s nice and unusual, and he’s thrilled about it.

Now, Fjord leads his crew in a race against time, as he shouts out orders and gives directions with such startling accuracy that nobody knows what to make of it. What happened to bumbling Captain Tusktooth? But Fjord has made great efforts to improve, and he knows his ship like the back of his hand, and he speaks with such confidence and authority that nobody dares doubt him, and they have no reason to. Is this how Vandran felt all the time? It feels good to be in control, to be listened to, to be trusted. The Dragonturtle is gaining, but Fjord has the utmost confidence in his ship and his crew that he stays at the helm and hopes that they trust him. They avoid the Dragonturtle, and Fjord never had any doubt that they would.

Now, Fjord is the captain of a ship, with a crew who waits on his every word with bated breath and a group of friends that he can call a family. A family he’s never had. He never thought that he deserved to have one who loves him as this one does. 

Now, Fjord is more than just a badly proportion half-orc orphan who filed down his tusks and ran away as soon as he could. Now, he was a hero of two warring continents. He stopped a war. He stopped two gods from breaking free from their bindings and raging war on the world. He was Captain Tusktooth with his very own vessel.

Now, Fjord has a purpose, a position, a destiny. He has a god on his side. He has a family that will bring him back from the dead if need be. He has a smile on his face and a pep in his step. Wherever Vandran may be, he knew that he would be proud of the man he has become.

Now, Fjord is happy.

Now, Fjord isn’t quite so lonely anymore. 

Now, Fjord is a member of the Mighty fucking Nein.

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT, I ADMIT IT. The title was a last-minute decision. It was just so funny that I had to change it. Sue me!


End file.
